


Other angle

by Okkkay



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Cliche, Hurt/Comfort, Medical, Neutrals, Repairs, Self-Acceptance, Slavery, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-08 23:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7778473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okkkay/pseuds/Okkkay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Decepticon left his disdained property in the snow of a frozen planet. Two strangers decide to rehabilitate him. But learning the truth about him comes at a cost...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arduria

**Author's Note:**

  * For [12drakon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/12drakon/gifts).



> Written for http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=15785621#t15785621  
> A spin-off of Mine/Yours. Same warnings apply; it is a little more explicit about the noncon, and has more medical themes.

1

Harsh cold weather, icy winds, signs of destruction.

Nothing alive, and nothing valuable. Master would be angry. He came here in hopes of finding something useful, maybe a trail to follow. No sign of Mostructor. No sign of Lord Shockwave.

. There was nothing, nothing here.

Master’s first punch landed on his face. The second shattered his left shoulder.

He fell on the solid ice, knowing what Master wanted. He spread his legs to facilitate what was certain to happen. When he cooperated, Master usually took out his anger on him without doing too much harm to his frame…

It hurt. Of course, it hurt, every thrust of Master’s heated spike felt like fire burning through his entire lower body, but he didn’t struggle. That would have only made the pain last longer.

When Master was done, he felt like his front and lower parts were aflame; meanwhile, his head and back were frozen solid.

“Stand up, you useless thing! UP, I say!”

He tried. He tried to stand up, but his broken and frozen frame would not obey. His crotch still hurt from the recent drastic entry, and his hips were slowly freezinginto a twisted, unnatural angle.

He screamed when Master kicked him twice on the same, long-ago ruptured tire.

But he really panicked only when Master turned around, and left him, legs still spread wide, alone in the snow.

 

2

Two silvery figures were moving with grace among the white dunes. Clearly, both were at home on the forsaken icy surface. A casual onlooker would have mistaken their perfectly kept white and chrome armor for shimmer of the fresh snow.

They moved in sync, but they let out no detectable comm. signal. If one were given the opportunity to observe them for long enough, their bond would have been just as obvious as their countless differences.

Two pairs of ice-blue optics were focused on the lone dark figure as the Decepticon struggled through the deep snow back to his ship. Two mouths quirked into devious smiles as he found the vessel robbed of fuel and several parts. One glossa was mockingly displayed to him, although his glowing red visor didn’t seem to pick up the irreverent gesture.

“Going somewhere, oh glorious victor?” one of the shining chrome robots asked. He posed so that his well-shaped frame’s curves were unmistakable in the brightness.

The bulky Decepticon pointed his gun at the unexpected speaker whom he hadn’t even noticed before. “Out of my way!” he bellowed. “I have no business with you, puny shareware neutrals!”

The duo burst out in laughing.

“Neutrals!”

“He called us neutrals!”

“The glorious and brave one!”

“So strong and invincible!”

“A true observer!”

The bulky gray-black Decepticon fired a shot at the closer mech. The tiny drop of energon was swallowed by Arduria’s energy-thirsty atmosphere before it could do even the smallest harm to the chrome-armored mech.

“One more shot?” he asked cheekily. “Or are you willing to bargain with us?”

The ‘Con looked puzzled only for a moment, and then, with an ancient Decepticon battle cry, he charged at the disrespectful mech. And fell neck-deep into a snow-covered pit. He could feel water melting around his frame, seeping into his joints, cooling his frame down.

The two good-looking mech-demons kept laughing at him, louder than before.

“Do you have anything to offer in exchange for your life, oh strong and undefeated one?”

He wasn’t sure if this was the one who had spoken before. The spark signature felt different. Meanwhile, the other mech calmly walked up to him, knelt down at the rim of the snow pit, and picked up the ‘Con’s dropped gun.

“Nothing! Leave me alone!” he shouted.

“Oh! With pleasure,” the one with his stolen gun replied.

The duo exchanged meaningful looks, then turned their backs.

Freezing and trapped in the snow, the Decepticon helplessly watched as they turned to his own ship again, and dragged the primary navigation engine away, behind a snow-dune. Next time, it was the secondary positioning thrusters the chrome mechs removed, rendering the ship non-maneuverable. With the main engines still there, the vessel would have been able to take off, but it would have needed help to take the desired direction.

The two beautiful mechs, still unbothered by the cursing ‘Con, detached the fuel reserves. They wrapped them into an organic-looking material before dragging both barrels out into the cold.

“Still didn’t come to your senses?” one asked.

“Not like he has anything to offer,” the other silver mech giggled. “We will come back for his frame tomorrow. The memories will be interesting.”

“You! Are you pirates? Space pirates? I have pirate friends! I have great… I served throughout the _entire_ war against the Autobots! I’m a hero! You can’t just dismantle my ship! You can’t dismantle _me_!” As he struggled to get out, the snow compressed under his feet, and he sank even deeper.

“Oh? Can’t we?” a marauder asked with a wink.

“Not if you value your lives! I crushed Dinobots with my fists! Aerialbots with my feet! I’m a well-respected mech!”

“I was certain about that. But do you have anything that would save you out here, where your great glory doesn’t mean anything?” The chrome and white mechs both turned to peer at him, then took crude repair tools out of their subspaces, and started to disassemble the spaceship’s heating system. Creaks and clanks of bending, then breaking metal were carried away on the icy wind.

Suddenly, one of the chrome marauders froze, and turned to the north. The other followed his gaze in an astrosecond. Then both went back to their business, but this time, with a visible hurry.

The trapped Decepticon couldn’t see anything special in the indicated direction. Clouds. Wind. What was there?

“Well, oh great warrior, we need to go. It’s a pity such a rich mech will die out here without a shanix to save him. See you in the Allspark!”

“That snowstorm will take you right there,” the other added, like some helpful guide. “Too bad. I almost started to like you.”

“Wait. Waaait!”

“Hm?”

“I have a slave. A useless little frag-toy, it was hardly ever anything better, but everything else I had was on the ship. I have the thing’s master-code. If you bring it here, I can re-code it to either of you.”

“Oh. A slave.How valuable.” The first speaker didn’t seem too moved by the offer.

“Generous of you, indeed. Especially, considering how reluctant you were to give up such great treasure.”

“But that’s the only thing I have!” the big ‘Con cried miserably.

 


	2. Shelter

3

Mess.

Master’s call. Cold.

Two other mechs following Master, same frame type, individual sparks, some sort of a quantum bond between them.

Terror and disdain on their faces as they see him. One of them coming closer.

Warmth.

Some sort of liquid that melts the ice on and around his frozen hip joints. Still very cold, but movable.

Master is angry! Angrier than he could remember seeing him!

Sounds of disgust from the strangers; the frozen metal of his damaged frame shrieking its protest as he crawls to Master’s feet. Master’s hand coming!

Confusion.

Master?

Another Master! One of the strangers is now a Master!

Master leaves with the other one!

Master!!!

Master?

 

4

“Mech, you are in a mess,” the marauder murmured. “Can you talk?”

The half-frozen robot just stared at him with frightened blue optics. He kept his gaze on his new master ever since his ownership had been transferred, only wasting a blink at the campsite dug under the snow dunes. But he didn’t fight when they dragged him down there, which both white and chrome marauders approved of.

“Can you at least answer yes or no? Do you hear me?”

He nodded.

“Good. Stay here, and don’t touch anything for the next joor. We will either be back by then, or we will be dead, in which case Click or Cog will pick you up tomorrow. Wish us luck, we really need that ship.”

Again, he nodded.

“Good.”

He waited, staring at the organic-looking matter on the walls, listening to the distant howls of the coming storm. He wished he could at least rub his own broken frame, but he didn’t dare to go against the prohibition. So he just waited quietly. Whatever would happen to him, he had nothing to do but let it happen.

From somewhere in the back of his mind, the word ‘hope’ was echoing, although he had long ago forgotten what it meant.

The two chrome mechs returned just before the joor was over. Both looked cold and tired, but also cheerful. They both consumed energon, then the other mech (not the one to whom his ownership code was transferred) sat down next to him, and helped him lift up his head so that he could also refuel.

“Mech, Leader was right. You’re in a mess. Worry not, most wounds heal quite well without a doctor. Just refuel.”

He blinked at his new master (so, Leader was his name?) - and since the master didn’t seem to oppose him being fed by a stranger, he opened his mouth and hungrily gulped down the good-quality fuel.

“Shh, not so fast. You’ll choke on it.”

He tried to restrain himself, but the sight of an entire cube so close to his intakes was too tempting for any threat to suppress. He took a second, even bigger gulp, then a third – and then, indeed, he started choking, and the chrome stranger took the cube away.

“I told you. How long has he been keeping you? Since the Final Peace was officially declared, more or less?”

A slightly more reassured nod.

“Okay. No need to try and catch up on all those three vorns in this one klik. Ready for a second try?”

A hungry nod.

“Good. I’m Shine, by the way. Leader is my older brother. We’re co-molded. Both of us have been more or less where you are now. So… yes, expect we have an idea of what’s going on in your mind, even when you think you’re alone in it. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?

The chrome one had to forcibly remove the cube from the mouth of the slowly thawing mech.

“I repeat. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

That gesture could be taken as ‘partially’.

“Just relax, then. We’re safe here. Arduria sucks energy out of anything, but azergo fur keeps us safe from this effect. Not as good directly against the cold, however. If you want, you can curl up next to me. Leader is not much of a cuddle-lover,” Shine laughed. “This cube is half empty. Do you think your servos are strong enough to hold it? All right, all right! No need to make it lighter by drinking all of it so quickly. I’ll help you hold it. When have you last fueled properly?”

Only the loud drinking was the reply, interrupted by occasional coughing.

“Why do you ask when you know the answer?” Leader asked his co-molded. “Three vorns and two quartexes ago.”

The mech looked his new master in the optics, and nodded. The empty cube then fell from his hand, and soon he dropped his frame onto the strange material on the floor.

Shine curled up around him so that he could keep the mech warm and safe.


	3. Transfer

 

5

Comfort.

The sense of not being alone.

New Master was recharging a few meters away, his frame motionless on the soft organic material. His frame was so brilliant, so beautiful. Odd, how prominent his spike cover was, and even more so, how his panels were also drawing attention to his valve cover. Who, in this horrible war, would design such charming frames?

New Master had such gorgeous servos. And stabilizers. He had scratches there, too, and that long scar looked like a reminder of some horrible crash from vorns ago.

New Master also had a same-frame companion, one currently holding him in his embrace. Was this acceptable? Most certainly, as New Master was here, and would have ordered him out of that comfortable and warm snuggle, if he didn’t approve of somebody else pinning down his property.

But wait! New Master was moving! He was making sounds! Weak, miserable sounds! Should he help? Should he wake New Master from the nightmare?

Oh. No need. Master’s Brother was moving, slowly releasing him from that warm hold, waking New Master. Sitting down next to New Master, holding New Master by the hand. Talking to New Master in a subtle, barely detectable way that, somehow, still felt familiar.

New Master looked up, his gaze briefly falling on him.

Master’s Brother returned and said something, so quiet that his audials, tuned for the volume of Mas—Of Past Master’s bellowing, could not pick anything up. Master’s Brother pulled him close again, of which New Master clearly approved. 

Master’s Brother’s warm frame pressed against his back, his air outlets breathing hot air into vorns-old damages and wounds. Fingers touched his ruptured tires, a servo pressed under his neck, supporting his head like a pillow. Beautiful silver stabilizers tangled around his cold legs, and the spike cover, similarly prominent like New Master’s, pressed against him just enough to be recognizable.

New Master nodded in approval of this, and went back into recharge.

His new property kept awake, to be there and wake Master’s Brother in case of another nightmare.

 

6

The white and silver twins woke slowly, but in sync. Some sort of communication crossed between them before their first movements, but they were careful not to wake their new companion.

“How do you feel, mech?” Shine greeted him when he noticed the newcomer was up anyway. “I see you can move fine. That storm yesterday must have covered the bridge, so we will need to dig it out. Do you think you can help us with that?”

Enthusiastic nod.

“Great. Come!”

“Too bad you can’t tell us what your name is,” Leader murmured. “I’ll get you to Flatline. He’s a bit on the crazy side, but he can do miracles to wounded frames…”

“...And he’s our only medic at this time, and mind you, aligned medics are not much better,” Shine finished the sentence. “Decepticons are either sadistic or self-centered, and Autobots are paranoid after the defeat. Trust Leader: Flatline is the best choice.”

The surface was glowing brilliantly in the fresh snow. The field was almost perfectly horizontal, but both chrome mechs paid great attention to where they stepped. When their new companion failed to follow in their footsteps, he immediately sank in a pit similar to what had trapped his former owner the day before. Leader caught him, and pulled him out without a single reprimand.

Then came the digging.

After that, came a surprise.

A fully functional space bridge was hidden in the deep snow, large enough for a small ship to fit through. The engines and fuel tanks were transferred one after the other, the camp’s furniture was also teleported, and then the three mechs peeled the azergo fur from the ice-walls, rolled it up, and threw it into the bridge as well.

“In short, we found everything here, except for Shockwave or Monstructor,” Leader grimaced. “I hate to say it, but someone will have to come back someday.”

Then the spacebridge swallowed the three of them.


	4. Home

7

Familiar sounds!

Beeping of machinery! The quiet flow of air as a diagnostic drone was flying by!

And strangers everywhere. Too many for his optics to follow, but New Master was OK with them, so he didn’t resist. Then one doctor (yet another stranger) started a full checkup on him. It was all familiar! He knew in advance what was going to be the next demand, and when he had moved just so, Stranger Doctor said something to New Master, to which New Master reacted happily! New Master even shook the doctor’s hand!

Then came the specific examinations, for which he had to sit motionless for five-six breems. Had it taken this long back then, when he had been on the other side of the scanners?

But then, something started to make sense to him! They showed him the scan results of his damaged facial sensors, and he understood over 73% of it! He was shown the list of the most essential frame repairs, and New Master actually let him choose where the medic would start! He chose ‘new visor’ first, because he hoped getting back his vision would help him with everything else; ‘fixing the transformation seams in left shoulder’, because transformation was essential for a Cybertronian, and he had not been in his alt for over three vorns; and finally, ‘in-situ repairs of ruptured valve’, because he was certain New Master would not want him with damage left by Past Master.

Then the assistant rolled in with the processor activity readouts.

Stranger Doctor hesitated before handing them over, but New Master spoke to Stranger Doctor arrogantly, and then he immediately surrendered the datapad.

The scan results showed he’d lost more than 80% of his processor functions. There were blocks on all high-quality communications, over half of his own body control, 78% of his rapid access memory, but even worse: his personality-identifying protocols had been re-wired into being the positive feedback loop of his interface drive.

Sense!

Suddenly, it made sense!

And there was one more thing to recognize: he was a medic!

Or had been. That must be why he understood those scan results, all that medical stuff, even though the mechs around him talking still sounded like they spoke Bocce.

Need! Sudden need!

His valve demanded to be filled, by gorgeous New Master, now!

Legs spread, valve lubrication initiated. New Master should take him, frag him, dominate him, right now, right here! The need was only increased by the many wounds in his interface parts.

But New Master was moving away. NO!

He sobbed. He begged.

New Master demanded something different, however.

Of what he could make out of his words, New Master wanted him to pay attention to the sheet in his hands.

It was just a sheet. But New Master said it was important. New Master made it a condition of interfacing!

Ah, the priority list. With a touch of his fingers, he moved ‘in-situ repairs of ruptured valve’ to the top.

Desired New Master said something familiar, but not opened his cover yet.

His frame demanded New Master’s spike, he needed it NOW!

Stranger Medic touched his neck right where the surgical deactivation override plug was.

 

8

“We’re deep in the scrap,” Shine exclaimed. “We have a medic. To help him re-discover himself being a medic, and for the entire healing process, he needs his self-identification. Which has been re-routed into his interface loop.”

“This can actually be beneficial,” Flatline pointed out. “We have a relatively easy access to his personal identification, which then will rocket boost his healing. And mind you, he needs every bit of help he can get.”

“And didn’t you buy him to be your interface toy?”

“NO!” Leader shouted. “No, definitely not!” His blue gaze almost pierced the assistant who had asked the not-so-innocent question.

“We were only playing with the ‘Con whose ship engines we retrieved while looking for Shockwave. Primus knows neither of us would ever buy a mech for any personal reason,” Shine continued.

“Primus is very far away…” the assistant murmured.

Leader picked up the sheet the sedated mech had dropped. “Are you sure making use of that positive feedback loop would work?”

Flatline reset his vocalizer. “As a former medic, the remaining 20% of his capacity was more than enough to understand exactly what he had lost. And I bet he understood why this was happening to him.”

“Understood, but could not do anything against it,” Shine whispered. “He was completely overridden by that loop.”

Silence fell on the mechs, the only sound the surgery sanitizer being scrubbed onto the mech’s frame.

“Doctor Flatline… How certain are you that keeping his identity and interface in one loop would help him recover?”

Flatline stood quietly, waiting as white and red paint became visible under whatever scrap the Decepticon had covered the mech in.

“Doctor?”

“I’m not sure… I’m not sure how much that would help, but I can tell you, pulling his processor out from the loop is impossible without igniting his self-repair in advance.” He might have muttered something like ‘sorry’.

“In other words,” Shine murmured, “using the interface loop is not guaranteed to heal him, but without using it, either he would remain as he is now, or he would die during processor surgery.”

“Piiiit…” Leader sighed.


	5. Workbench

9

Waking from surgery. White walls and the beeping of standard monitoring devices.

All is well, then. Valve and left shoulder ooze with disinfectant and welding additives. Internal feedback and frame memory hint at an experienced but slightly superficial surgeon. Sensors blocked with a timed coding. Two more breems, and all blocks would dissolve. Signature in medical code unfamiliar.

New Master coming. New Master looks troubled, but determined. Why? Surgery went well! There were few things he was sure about, but translating a frame feedback was so simple.

New Master asking how he feels. Hand-sign of ‘perfect’.

New Master holding a simplified flowchart of the positive feedback loop. Flowchart clearly done by same mech as surgery. Best guess: Stranger Doctor.

Synchronizing chrono with New Master. Master’s Brother enters, holds servo. Nice mech.

New Master kind, but not nice.  New Master keeps distance. New Master asks if brother can substitute for interfacing.

Master’s Brother gentle. Touch feels good. New Master prefers not to touch.

No correct answer.

 

10

Shine was sitting quietly as his co-molded tried to explain the situation to their new companion. In his experience, interfacing right after a traumatic surgery was a bad idea. Normally, the point would be to prove to the mech that not all valve-interfaces hurt. In fact, several victims had asked him to be their first partner after Decepticon (or rarely, Autobot) imprisonment, exactly because they knew he would restore their trust in their own pleasure-organs. But that always happened orns, sometimes weeks after the last repairs, to give their frames time to properly heal.

Now, however, time was a luxury they could not afford. He only hoped the positive feedback would override all the scraping of welds, itches of replaced sensor wires, and discomfort of still-echoing heat detections.

Their mech, the new-found medic, looked much better in his original colors. Back on Arduria, they didn’t even take time to properly clean him up… Shine felt a little bad for this, too.

But the white and red medic looked happy. He was in good hands and he knew it. Where might he have been during the war? Somewhere with the Autobots, that was blatantly obvious. But Autobots weren’t typical loners. So where were the others? Did this mech have any surviving squad-mates at all? Who could tell without identifying him, in the first place?

The wait was over. The mech’s sensor blocks dissolved and deleted themselves. His co-molded asked again how the unidentified medic felt.

Well, that was a telltale look at Leader’s crotch. Shine hid his grimace, although his emotions were certainly clear to Leader through their bond.

Flatline had asked them to alert him in case of a medical emergency, then had locked himself away with raw materials for a blue visor. The way he had offered to select a faceplate as well had hinted that he might have already identified his colleague, but kept the finders in the dark. If so, he must have a reason.

Shine only hoped Flatline was already trying to locate the poor mech’s surviving friends, if he had any.

“So, medic. Do you remember anything before the Autobots were driven from Cybertron?” Leader carefully asked.

The mostly white mech carefully touched his owner’s servo with a finger. He might have been staying out of the loop as long as he could. Perhaps because he didn’t want anyone to interface with him, or perhaps because he didn’t want to rush Leader down. Or maybe he was trying to stay in control of his own frame, now that he was free of his abuser. If so, Shine knew such resistance was futile.

The medic pointed at random points, then looked back at his owner, curious if he understood the reply.

“Here and there?”

Nod.

“Do you remember your faction?”

The medic pointed at the left side of his bright red chestplate, from where paint had been scraped off, probably vorns ago. Then he pointed at the white armor of his left shin. An entire panel was missing here.

“Do you remember the mechs you served with?”

The reply was ‘small’. The mech pointed at his own white arm and a red elbow joint, then at his own head.

Shine noticed he was clearly lubricating at this point. Leader didn’t yet move.

“Do you remember if you had an active slave coding before the ‘Cons captured you?”

Again, the reply was pointing at panels and head. And an unmistakable moan as his valve cover opened, soaking the medical berth with his lube.

“One last question. Do you remember your own voice, your own talking?”

The mech froze, then slowly hanged his head. His valve, still open, stopped its inviting small movements. He released the silver servo his fingers had been holding, and slowly pulled away to the farther side of the berth.

Leader reached out for him, and pulled him closer. The shining grey spike cover was retracted, and the mech, now driven by his own desire, took one step closer to the berth. His hands grabbed a bright-red thigh, and soon he pulled an unresisting medic onto himself.

“Come, I will make it good for you. This is a positive feedback loop, remember. Let me unlock your memories…”

Shine watched with growing worry as the medic’s body language turned from enthusiastic to controlled, then from the expression of sadness (grief?) to plain surrender.

“I want you to remember who you are…” Leader whispered to his red and white property, who then, suddenly, seemed to have found his voice.

“NOOOOOO!”


	6. Privacy

11

Master’s Brother holding him tight. A safe, secure connection, momentary shelter from the outside world. New Master looking puzzled and disappointed. Master’s Brother manipulating something on his frame, and New Master waiting in the far side of the room for something to happen.

Flashes.

Red and white mechs, a copter, a sleek car, and a motorcycle.

Dust. Defeat. A larger blue mech abandoning them, saying meaningless words, a never-kept promise.

“Nooo…”

Memories of Past Master, laughing. Taking pride and joy in his panic as he’s miserably trying to reach for his mates, a cruel laughter the only reply. A massive spike entering him, forcing him to remember whom he had lost, who were the mates who had betrayed him.

But… No spike? No spike, only Master’s Brother, holding him down, gently turning his face in the other direction when he tries to catch New Master’s optics. Familiar voice from an unfamiliar vocalizer: “I’m sorry. We should have thought about that…”

 

12

“What the frag happened?” Flatline rushed into the room.

“I think ‘frag’ was the only thing that didn’t happen,” Leader replied. “We all brilliantly forgot to ask ourselves one little question. Why had his self-identification been looped that way?”

“Anything that was done to him,” Shine whispered, so as not to scare the mech in his lap even more, “was done by Decepticons. To do him harm.”

“But how?” Flatline demanded, too loud. Shine hushed him.

“By reminding him,” Leader replied quietly. “Let’s call things by their names. Not only was he raped regularly, but each time he was forced to remember who he had been before the defeat. His bleeding face had been rubbed into the fact he used to be a valued medic, that he was separated from his gestalt…”

“How do you know he was in a gestalt?” Flatline and Shine asked in unison.

“When I asked who he had served with, he indicated at the gestalt connection point, among other parts. I admit I’m not an expert of war technology, neither am I a body language translator…” He fell silent as he noticed the mostly red medic’s almost inaudible beeps for help.

“I think I know where to look for answers,” Flatline said, leaving the room. “But Leader, you won’t like what I will come up with.”

“Just get lost,” Shine murmured to one doctor, while still holding the other in a tight hug.

Seeing he would not reject his touch, Leader sat down next to his newfound medic, and gently caressed the plug-points of the gestalt connection. “Flatline was right,” he whispered. “I hate negotiating with Autobots. I hate coordinating joint missions. But I’m not Leader of our hub to just… reject responsibility.”


	7. Been here before

13

New Master was here. Master’s Brother as well.

No harm could come…

That was the same statement he had believed before. Before Hot Spot had retreated from battle, Hot Spot, who had always been the superior they unconditionally followed.

Hot Spot had abandoned the Protectobots with the fake promise that he would bring reinforcements. He never returned.

The four limb-mechs were broken and subdued by the victorious Decepticons. Who knew what had happened to the others? When his slave code had forcibly been activated, he lost contact with his gestalt mates. Streetwise’s last encouragements still echoed in his audials. Groove also went down fighting. Blades? Blades was the lucky one, he’d been given to Skywarp, that duo was seen soaring the Decepticon-ruled homeland’s skies like that was the most natural thing to do.

“Master…”

With every interface, he was forced to remember Hot Spot’s parting words, Blades’ betrayal, Groove’s futile sacrifice.

“Master…!”

“I’m here. But you know my name. Just as you know my brother’s.”

“Leader... Leader, don’t leave me alone…”

 

14

“Do you remember your gestalt’s name?”

Shine stood up from the berth, and moved to the corner of the room, so that he could get a better view on anything going south. So far, he had only observed the medic’s interface opening again. No other sign of desire. Yet.

“Protectobots. Defensor. I’m certain I had no memory from before onlining on Earth. Streetwise had often asked how we were made, and we were always told that it was mostly from Earth materials. So I think it’s all right that I don’t have memory of anything preceding that.”

He fell silent, suppressing a moan. He tried to fix his gaze on Leader’s optics, but it somehow always sank to his crotch area again. “I never asked. If our sparks and cogs and B-modules had been placed in new frames with no memories, I’m certain the Autobots had done that for our own good.”

“Well, if you say so…” Shine inserted sarcastically.

“Ignore my brother. I think he never heard about a blissful deletion.”

The medic now looked up at his owner’s face effortlessly. “Do you think I was functioning previously? Here? I mean… On Cybertron? Away from Earth?”

“I think so, mech. What do you know about gestalt technology?”

“All that was available for the medics.”

“History?” Shine queried.

“Decepticon invention.” He didn’t really care to learn more.

The two chrome mechs exchanged odd looks. Silence fell on the three of them.

“Yes, Decepticon invention,” Leader sighed. “When their uprising started, they fought against the rich, the powerful…Many of whom were slave-keepers. This left the ‘Cons with quite a lot of former slaves among their lines. They had an army of mechs with unstable programming, and in such situations, original morals and ideas bend incredibly under demands of a powerful military.”

“Were… Were the first gestalts all slaves?” the mech asked.

“First? No, medic. Not the first. All of them. Once you’re created with it, slave coding cannot be eradicated. It can be twisted, it can be modified, ownership data can be manipulated. Sometimes the spark’s own integrity code contradicts it on a level that practically results in an independent mech…”

“You’re being preached by one such glitchbrain,” Shine interjected.

“Independent mech,” Leader repeated, seemingly ignoring his co-molded’s comment. “But the coding is still there at the base. Creating fighting units where the members are literally limbs of a central mechanism was desirable for various reasons. Most importantly, because their coding was present anyway, and it provided a potential danger. Cog told me it takes a lot of skill and experience to steal one mech’s ownership from another, while a feral’s code can be triggered by as much as a few careless words.”

“Were we… Were we all…The central mechs too?” The medic’s valve spasmed, but little did he care about it.

“No. They were the one the limbs would imprint on.”

“Did… Do you think Hot Spot knew it? Did he know he was leaving us in Decepticon hands with slave coding that only needed a skilled hacker to bind all of us?”

Leader fell silent. He didn’t know what to say.

“As an Autobot-made Autobot, I doubt he did. But that’s just my half-shanix,” Shine mused. “Your loop is getting rather active again.”

“I’m trying to control it. I’m a medic, and as such…”

As a medic, he should have known that identifying himself as a medic would only spin his own desire for Leader’s spike completely out of his control.


	8. With you, anywhere

15

Need.

Burning demand.

New Master couldn’t even steady himself with his servos when his new medic ran him down. Master’s Brother jumped up to interfere if needed.

But New Master didn’t resist. That silvery spike, uncovered for the second time in as many breems, was steady and beckoning.

His valve demanded contact, and complete loss of control. As New Master’s shimmering frame touched his lower frame, jolts of electricity jumped from his body.

Yes, please! That, New Master! “Leader!”

The spike’s tip rubbed against the rim of his valve. One weld on the right side, two near the emergency exhaust, all were aflame with need for an uncontrolled interface.

New Master’s spike! Finally!

Deeper, deeper! Oh, gorgeous silver pleasure-rod! Most precious part of the mech he belonged to!

Pleasure! More of it! Infinite desire’s reward!

Most blessedly pleasure-filled tool, wonderful chrome instrument!

The best thing possible to happen to a medic who had been left behind by his gestalt mates! Wonderful silver raising him high, him who had once been broken into the ground by an unworthy creature, in his past! He is now complete, fulfilled to more than he had ever been!

He’d been trusted with the truth, the real truth, the personal knowledge! This mech, this wise and independent silver mech, had uncovered what had been kept from him so long!

This wonderful, wonderful mech who’d allowed him to see himself as he is, who helped him accept the past and close it like an airlock. This mech with whom he will never need to seek the illusory freedom again.

This mech who would accept him as he is…

“What’s your name?”

“First Aid!”

The loop of sensual jolts and self-recognition burst into a complete white-out.

 

16

It had been two weeks since Flatline had officially released his colleague from the large neutral hub’s medibay. How long before someone would end up there again? Leader didn’t want to know. Hopefully, they would be functional at the end of the day, but looking at the plans again, he would have happily accepted the possibility of a long medically subscribed rest, against the high probability of getting himself killed in this raid.

To the chrome mech, these plans looked too much like they were masterminded by Skywarp. In theory, Blades’ keeper only provided the map; the rest of the work had been plotted out by a horribly remorseful Hot Spot, with some assistance from an Autobot tactician.

Shine had initially demanded to be left out of this. Then he had reluctantly agreed to talk to the Autobots on his co-molded’s behalf. Then he had returned with an unspeakably ashamed Hot Spot, who just wanted to apologize to First Aid in person for giving up on the hope of ever finding him. Then Shine had spent an entire evening listening to the blue Protectobot’s stories about how he finally got a wounded yet mentally unbroken Groove out from a Decepticon junkyard. Then he’d spent two sleepless orns waiting for First Aid’s return when he traveled back to Earth. Eventually, he’d admitted to himself that the medic had never truly been his or Leader’s possession. The next day, he volunteered to secretly take the Cybertronian space bridge and make contact with Blades. Somehow, he ended up in Skywarp’s berth, and enjoyed every astrosecond of it.

So now Shine and Click and several others from the neutral colonies were standing by to kidnap Streetwise from the Stunticons. Leader, Hot Spot, and Blades were to provide the necessary distraction. First Aid, Flatline and Groove were responsible for getting everyone home safely.

Cog was honored to play the key role in the rescue: hacking the Autobot gestalt-limb back from the Decepticons. The bulky black truck was considered too old and too clumsy for action, but his vast experience with modulating ownership data was essential in getting Streetwise back safely. Skywarp’s assistance was a less-trusted Option B.

Leader would have bet this plan wouldn’t survive first contact with reality, and indeed, it didn’t.

Somehow, when Streetwise finally exited the space bridge…

…the rescue team was also bringing Wildrider and Breakdown along.

 


End file.
